What’s all this music now?

I’m always suspicious of people who give themselves too many titles. Like, “I’m a poet, philosopher, photographer, ham radio expert, dog groomer, and video game programmer.” I usually read that as, “I like a lot of things, but I’ve never dedicated myself to any one of them fully enough to be legitimately good at any of them.” 

And so, I’m suspicious of myself when I say I’m a writer and also a musician. People typically aren’t good at more than one thing, and both of those aforementioned things are things that are hard to be good at. 

But I feel okay about the writey part, because people have paid me lots of money over the years to make words happen. For the musicy part, I paid other people a lot of money to teach me how to do it well, so that’s indeed suspicious. But in the end, they did give me two degrees in it, and one of those degrees has the word “master” in the title, so allegedly I can claim bona fides in music, too. 

Because I’ve done words professionally but music primarily only amateurly and/or in academic settings, people get confused. And suspicious. And rightly so. 

​But my deep love of writing music, and my experience doing so, has been THE most consistent activity in my life since I was 13. That was when I bailed on piano (after nine years of lessons!) and picked up the guitar. The electric guitar, mainly. (Why? You know why. Chicks dig rock stars with guitars. I’d like to say my pivot to the guitar was more profound than that, but nope. Just wanted to be cool.)
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The first song I remember writing after I became a Very Cool Boy With A Guitar was called “Country Music.” The title was ironic, because not only was it a RAWK SONG, not a country song, but it was about how country music sucks.

Here’s an excerpt from the lyrics. Note the maturity and grace I possessed at the tender age of 13:

Country music is a bore.
Nobody buys it at the store* 
Country music makes me sick
I would rather eat a ton of bricks
Than listen to country music play
Twenty-four hours every daaaaayyyyyy

(Someday, sometime, find me somewhere, with a guitar nearby, ensure that I’m 3+ drinks deep, and ask me to play this for you.) 

A few years later, I would come to realize that I did, actually, love country music of various kinds from various artists. See: Cash, John R.; Nelson, William; Parton, Ms. Dolly; et al.
I will say that although my songwriting depth at age 13 was banal at best, this song actually slapped (or bopped, I forget the definitions of each) when our middle school rock band played it.

Anyway.

I’ve never stopped writing songs, even when I was writing a looooottttt of other kinds of music during the six years of my formal, degreed music education, including small ensemble pieces, vocal pieces, and operas. (Yes, operas; yes, actual operas, that were performed by people on a stage. No, they were not in Italian, please don’t make me explain why that’s a stupid question. No, there is no demand for operas, which is why I—I mean, unless you would like me to write an opera for you? ...no? No, of course you don’t. Literally nobody does.)

My eldest child asked me recently, “Why don’t you play your songs for other people?” Ouch. But man, it’s hard to carve out time and energy to do that, especially when you’re raising kids and working a demanding, full-time job. [Editor’s note: Strike that bit about the demanding, full-time job. Woot.]

If I’m being honest, a big part of the reason I’ve done so little in terms of playing my music out and about is because I’m quietly terrified that no one will care. Not even that they won’t like it—that they’ll be entirely indifferent to it. I see your heart and soul there on a stage, you lonely and brave man! But please do it more quietly, I’m trying to have a conversation over here about ham radios. 

Also, one of the barriers to music versus words, at least for me, is that format means a lot. I can write words and put them anywhere—a print magazine, online media outlet, social media post, newsletter [Editor’s note: WINK WINK], or whatever, and it doesn’t really matter. The content itself comprises 99.99% of the importance.

But music is different; if you have the audacity to record yourself making music, you’re supposed to go into a studio and pay someone to fix your crappy mistakes and mix and master and make it all sound professional. And if you want people to hear it, you have to rehearse it a lot, convince someone to let you stand in a space and make your noises, then go to that space and make your noises...and do that over and over and over and over and over** again, usually for years at a stretch, before anyone gives two shits.  

And that can be exhausting. But here at Adventure Hat, I have and will continue to share demo recordings of songs and talk about them, how I made them, and what they mean. When I’m able, I will play them aloud in spaces more often. And if I ever gin up the gumption, I’ll record ‘em proper.   

Every part of music-making is an adventure of the mind, soul, and heart. And sometimes there are adventures when you go out and try to force/coerce people to listen to it. 
So. That’s why (and how) I include music things here in my beloved little newsletter, Adventure Hat.  

​(Last chance to request an opera, by the way, so—what’s that? Hard pass? Okay, okay, got it…)
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*Editor's note: This was, and is, of course, patently untrue. Bajillions of people were buying country music at the store at the time I penned these lyrics.
**and over and over and over and over...